I hope this letter finds you well, as opposed to in a well. That didn’t work out too well for little Timmy.
Sorry, I’m a bit rusty with writing letters. That was an incredibly morbid opening. I apologize. I’ll start over.
I’m incredibly excited to be writing this letter to you. It is my first letter out to Amsterdam. Every time I say “Amsterdam” in my head, I say it as “Hamster, damn!”.
There, I think that was a more appropriate opening. Though if any hamsters are reading this, they’ll probably file a restraining order against me. Oh well, I’m Canadian so Beaver dams are more up my ally anyway.
What am I even saying?
A couple of years ago, I think you commented on one of my posts that you were binge reading my blog while on a long train ride. Do you remember that? I’m 90% sure it was you, but I couldn’t find the comment so I’m not entirely sure.
If it wasn’t you, just go with it.
That comment made my day and I’ll never forget it. The idea that someone riding on a train – on the other side of the world – chose to read my blog, was unbelievable to me. It was quite the honour. I mean, you could’ve done anything else.
You could’ve slept, nibbled on a cookie, stared out the window, or made funny faces at the passengers around you. But no, you chose to read my blog to kill time.
Again, if that wasn’t you, just act like it was.
You mentioned the movie, The Incredibles, and asked me what the sequel would be about if they ever made one.
Here’s a confession: I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the movie. I’ve heard of it. I know what the people will look like before I Google them in about eighteen seconds, but I couldn’t tell you anything about the movie.
I think it was one of the movies we used to put on for the kids at camp who had to stay two extra hours until someone could pick them up. Even if we did that, I can promise you I didn’t watch.
I was probably snoozing on a couch, or cheating at a card game with a 6-year-old.
Looking at the family photo of the Incredible household, one thing is very clear to me. They all need more sleep. They all have dark black bags under their eyes. Also, they really should put on some pants.
One more thing, the Dad skips leg day. While I’m on legs, it should be noted that the daughter doesn’t have any.
Not hatin’, just statin’ (facts).
If a sequel were ever to be made, I would not call it The Incredibles 2. That would be incredibly boring.
I would call it, “The Just Alrights”.
By the time the second movie is made, the three kids will be young adults and the plot would follow their ventures into the real world.
I don’t know what their jobs are (I’ll have to sit down with the writing team and pinky and brainstorm some ideas), but whenever someone asks them how they’re doing, they will always reply, “Just alright.”
I feel like that would make the movie a lot more relatable. Superheroes that call themselves “Incredible” have no place in the world today.
If I saw someone walking around with the letter “I” on their chest, I’d think they were a mobile info booth just waiting for my questions.
“Excuse me, can you tell me who decided on how deep the pockets on pants should be?”
menace to society delight if you let me ask random questions.
So that’s what the movie would be about. Following around this average family, who’s children reached their peak at a young age and now have to live in a world where they aren’t recognized as adorable, little superhero kids.
Kinda like Macauley Culkin.
You told me you have an unhealthy obsession with drag queens, specifically RuPaul’s Drag Race. Is that a show?
You also said you had no idea how I would make use of that information. Well, challenge accepted!
When I see the name “RuPaul”, I see it as a name derived from a hesitant text message.
“R u Paul?”
And that’s all I have to say about that!
Lastly, you asked me, “What is ‘home’ for you?”
To me, “home” isn’t really something you can put into words, it’s something you feel.
I say that right as I’m about to try and put it into words.
Home is multiple things, and not just the place where I sleep at night.
Home is my university. It took awhile for it to feel like home, but by the middle of my second year – when I realized I didn’t want to go home, except for holidays – that’s when I realized that school had become my (new) home.
It’s the people there that made it my home. If I were to go back today, it would feel like an empty house because everyone I knew is now gone. But it will always be home to me.
Hanging out with certain people, even if it’s just talking during a car ride, that is “home” to me.
To sum it up, “home” is wherever my heart feels whole.
That probably sounded really grilled cheesy.
Well, Alexandra, I best be going. I hope you enjoyed this letter and my answers as much as I did writing them.
That question about “home” will probably keep me up tonight, in a good way.
With hamsters and beavers (dam!),
P.S. I hope you didn’t give up blogging.